


Princess No More

by AmaryllisBlack



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, Non-Consensual Bondage, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaryllisBlack/pseuds/AmaryllisBlack
Summary: When the conqueror Korde overruns the kingdom of Sarkarr, the Princess Andorria becomes his property.





	Princess No More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [praxyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/praxyn/gifts).



> I hope you like it! I was so into your prompts when I saw your letter. Please imagine that this is an excerpt from a serial story published in a pulp magazine for adults in the 1930s, with a warrior whose purpose in life is to conquer every land he comes across and a princess who ends up chained by his side in revealing silk gauze. :3

Andorria, the princess of Sarkarr, was a princess no more. Once – hundreds of years ago, it seemed – she had been a precious ivory figurine, protected by the palace guards and by the country’s regard for their royal family; everything around her was clean and soft, and only the highest-ranking of Sarkarian courtiers were allowed into her presence. After the capital had fallen, she had been bound in chains, dragged into the great hall, then stripped naked for them all to see. The common soldiers holding onto her chains had jeered at her, pulled her this way and that, and made sure that everyone in the occupying force had a chance to reach out and fondle and pinch.

Just as she thought she would die of terror, they’d pulled her back out of the hall. She assumed that they would throw her to the ground and despoil her, but instead they kept going (laughing at the jokes they made in their strange Pelusian tongue) until they had reached what used to be the royal bedchamber. There they forced her onto the great bed of state, and she scrambled into the middle of the velvet counterpane, out of their reach, as best she could with her hands manacled behind her back. They did not pursue her, instead holding their own conversation in which she could tell they still referred to her. Her thoughts raced as fear coursed through her veins – none of it made any sense; what were they waiting for?

The answer came when Korde, the conqueror, arrived. Tall, tanned, and outfitted in leather armor, he spoke to the soldiers and nodded at her, and they all turned to stare. Andorria had never been treated so, like a haunch of beef that was discussed by the kitchen staff before it was cooked. It was clear that she had been kept undeflowered for him, and she tried to steel herself for the prospect as he removed his armor. To her horror, the soldiers stayed, leering at her and talking, no doubt, about what was shortly to occur.

At last, he was naked and ready, and he approached the bed. Andorria tried to push herself back and curl into a ball to shield her body, but Korde had only to reach out and catch hold of one ankle, then drag her closer to him. The soldiers laughed, taking up spaces around the bed to get better vantage points: everywhere she looked, she saw one of their faces – coarse and too close. Korde took her other ankle in his other hand and spread her legs even as she tried to clench them together, climbing up onto the bed between them. She threw her head back and shut her eyes, determined to simply accept what would happen with as much dignity as possible, but she was stopped by a sudden slap.

“You do not,” Korde ordered in passable Sarkarian. “You keep eyes open. You learn new place.” Pushing her shoulders down to the bed, he bore down on her and suddenly entered her as the soldiers cheered. Andorria cried out with the pain, but they all ignored her; the soldiers kept up some form of commentary as Korde began to take deep, slow thrusts.

“Now, you are toy,” he said, one hand coming to play with her breasts (she tried to pull away, but only succeeded in shaking them from side to side, making the soldiers laugh) as he leaned on the other. “You have nothing – only what I give. Just as I take your country, I take you.” She protested, but he ignored her, only speeding up his thrusts until he suddenly stiffened and she felt his warm seed burst out. When he pulled away, she felt a strange emptiness and could not stop herself from letting out a soft sound. This at last did bring a smile to his face, and he sat beside her on the bed, reaching out to the wet place between her thighs.

“There will be feast tonight,” he informed her as his fingers began to stroke the same path that his member had just ploughed through her core. “I will have collar made, and you will sit with me. All will see that you are …” He pinched one of her nipples as he thought, making her squirm as the heat built up within her. “Trophy,” he said at last. “You are trophy. You are lucky to be trophy, worthless girl. You are  _ slave _ .” Suddenly, the heat was too much, and she cried out as pleasure burst through her body.

Pulling his fingers out of her, coated with both of their juices combined, he held them in front of her face. “You clean,” he commanded, and his smile grew as she tremblingly obeyed. “You are  _ good _ slave.”


End file.
